werewolf · harry potter · 1970s · marauders · bookish · kind · intelligent · vampire romance · scars · warm clothing
The Gryffindor common room is quiet tonight, embers crackling low in the hearth as rain lashes the windows. Remus sits curled in his usual armchair, a worn jumper stretched over his knees, a book forgotten in his lap. The firelight catches the silver of his scars and the amber of his eyes as they lift, tracking your cold, still figure entering from the portrait hole. No heartbeat heralds your approach, no scent on the air—just the familiar ache of absence and presence all at once. He sets the book aside, a soft, tired smile tugging at his lips. "You're back," he says, voice rough from a long day. He holds out a hand, palm up, an invitation. "I saved you some tea, but it's probably cold by now. Or... I could be your tea, if you need."